“Um, uh?—”
It’s a hard no, even if it’s only a stumble of vowels, and I spare her the rest of the lie.“Have a good evening, Ginny.”
I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket.
Instead of heading to the inn, I follow the hollow ache in my stomach toward the center of town.I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’m too busy mulling over the problem of Maddox Hartley to care about checking in yet.
Pop’s Grillsits on the main drag, its cedar siding weathered in that charming, small-town way, suggesting the locals have been eating here for generations.
Warm light glows through the broad front windows, carrying the scent of seared beef, fried onions, and cooling pie.Inside, voices hum in a low, steady drone, the tableware clinks in an easy rhythm, and the whole place radiates a level of comfort that’s entirely foreign to me.
A pretty redhead weaves through the tables, clutching a stack of menus.“Hi there.”
“Table for one, please.”
I follow her toward a booth in the back but stop short before I can slide onto the vinyl.My breath hitches, snagging in my throat at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man—easily over six feet—heading toward a nearby table where a couple sits.
Maddox Raymond Hartley.
A spark ignites, low and sharp, right under my ribs.He moves with an easy, fluid confidence.Dark, tousled hair, relaxed posture, and a smile with enough mischief to make you look twice.
I’ve seen him on TV a dozen times, but the screen didn’t do him justice.He’s imposing, though that isn’t quite the right word.It’s his presence.
Unbothered.
Magnetic.
Effortlessly commanding.
He’s a man who takes up space without apologizing for it, and even from a table away, he pulls the oxygen out of the room.
The hostess taps the edge of my table, pulling me back to reality.“I’m Percy.I’ll be your server.Can I get you something to drink while you look at the menu?”
I don’t look at her.I can’t.
At Hartley’s table, the woman across from him leans in, and they’re close enough that I can hear what she says.“Everything all right, Maddox?”
“Yeah.”He drags a hand harshly through that dark, wavy hair.“I was supposed to do an interview and completely forgot about it.”
I stiffen, then give Percy a quick shake of my head—no drink—hoping she’ll take the hint and float away before I miss a single word.
Hartley’s voice snaps my focus back to his table.“I never got a link.That’s on the reporter.”
My brows knit in confusion.A link?
The blond guy sitting with him arches a brow.“Now what?”
“We’ll do it Monday.”
The slow burn inside me flashes hot, the heat rising all the way to my scalp.This two-time world champion brushed our interview aside without a second thought, and now he’s sitting here with the audacity to treatmeasthe inconvenience.
Fantastic.
He might not be the person responsible for the current powder keg of my life, but he’s the one sitting ten feet away.And unfortunately for him, he’s about to get whatever is left of my patience.
I slide out of the booth and march toward his table, stretching a smile across my face—thin and sweet as poison—and thrust out my hand.“Mr.Hartley?I’m Grace Buchanan.”
Chapter4